


My Empire of Dirt

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Based off of "Hurt" by Johnny Cash, Blowjobs, If I could draw I would have a field day making art for this idea, King George - Freeform, King George AU, M/M, Politics?, Porn with some plot, References to Suicide, Revolution, Sub George, dom dream, knight dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: George was fully aware that his place as king was about as real as his chances of being immortal. He was being used as a scapegoat- trapped in a position of mock power.The rebels wanted their land back- George couldn't exactly blame them. So when his loyal knight came into the throne room to escort him to safety, he refused. The king decided that if he was about to die, he'd at least be able to check one thing off his bucket list.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 384
Collections: Anonymous





	My Empire of Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the song "Hurt" by Johnny Cash. If any cc's express that they are uncomfy with shipping, especially NSFW, this work will be immediately deleted.

The world outside the window was tinged orange through his color-correcting goggles. Fires burned wildly, screams of the injured carrying through the stone walls.

George sat on his throne, cape ripped and singed, crown askew on his head. He wanted to rejoin the fight, but his court refused to let him. They said he was “too important,” which was bullshit.

Too important to go out and fight in a war that shouldn’t have been fought in the first place? God, it was fucking bullshit, it was asinine, and it was a lie. He knew they wanted him dead, but had to keep up looks. Politics were never fair to the good people.

The sad part was that he’d been excited to be king at first- he was nobody, the son of some barely ranking lord who just happened to be present when the land was won. It was pure luck, right? A kingdom of his own, people to rule, treaties to make, a world to better.

Then reality caught up to him. George realized how little power he really had, and how little he knew about how his country of Manburg had really been won. He was a figurehead, someone for the angry citizens to blame because they didn’t know what was happening behind the scenes. The court, those were the assholes who were taxing them and stealing their land to mine for more riches. George couldn’t stop them, no matter what he did. 

A loud explosion outside the throne room made the room shake- he didn’t flinch. Frankly he would welcome an explosion blowing him to bits: maybe then a different tyrant could take the throne, or better yet, maybe the rebels could take the country back when the government was scrambling to find a new figurehead.

“My king?” George was pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar soft voice. A smile found its way to his lips. His knight approached the throne, posture straight and regal to show his status. An enchanted chestplate and helm made of the strongest material known to the kingdom glowed softly on his body, offsetting the warm oranges and yellows flooding in through the window. A shock of blonde waves peeked out from under his helmet, and an axe that could behead a man in one strike was clutched in his fist. He was raw, beautiful power.

“Yes?” George replied simply. He toyed carefully with the sword at his belt, remaining neutral even as an arrow broke through the glass of the window. Dream turned around in a flash, cutting the arrow in half with deadly precision that made George’s breath hitch.

“I think we should get you out of here sire, it isn’t safe.” His voice was still calm, cocky even. The sounds of war just beyond the walls didn’t phase either of them. George just looked out the now broken window, watching smoke float up into the sky.

“I’m the king of nothing you know.” He said finally, ignoring the request he was given. Dream said nothing as he leaned his body weight on the handle of his axe. “This country isn’t mine. Manburg? It was stolen.” 

“Isn’t that how most countries are formed? War and stealing? Whoever has the most power wins the land.” Dream replied curiously. George sighed, resting his head in his hand as if he were bored.

“Perhaps.” More screams cut through the air, but the throne room seemed to have gained its own atmosphere. “When my father told me I would be king, I thought I was finally going to be able to make a difference-” He took the crown off his head, studying the gold and jewels that rested in his fingers. “This whole thing? It’s a lie. I have no power. And you’re still here- why the hell are you still here, Dream? Why don’t you let them kill me so someone else can take the throne?” His appointed knight was quiet- no, pensive, for a moment. He reached up and removed his helmet, blonde hair springing up wildly. His green eyes were intense, like those of a dragon.

“I’m a servant to you, your majesty. Not Manburg.” He said, a playful smirk on his lips as he bowed deeply. The helmet crashed to the ground with a clatter, as did the axe. Slowly Dream sauntered forward, want clear in the way he approached his king. “Am I correct in your intentions, your grace?” His voice was low, almost a growl when he reached the steps at the bottom of the throne. George’s eyes sparkled maniacally. 

“Kneel.” He ordered. Dream did so instantly, bowing his head as a show of submission to his king of nothing. George got to his feet, unrushed. To him, there was no world outside of that room. He unsheathed his jewel encrusted sword, admiring the way it reflected the blue light of the enchanted armor, and the orange of the fires outside. Carefully he reached out with the weapon, placing the tip just under Dream’s chin, using the blade to tilt it up to make him face his king. “What would you like my intentions to be, sir knight?” There was a filled silence between them, punctuated by the thumps of arrows lodging themselves in the stone walls outside.

“I believe I could be executed if I were to voice them aloud.” He replied, smirk taking over his face. A bit of heat pooled in the pit of George’s stomach at the words. He lowered his sword, allowing the tip to rest on the ground.

“Who’s going to execute you? They all want me dead anyway.” Dream stayed quiet, so George leaned down so his mouth was next to his knight’s ear. “So I’ll ask you again…” He could hear Dream’s breathing become uneven, his cool facade broken. “What would you like my intentions to be, sir knight?” He repeated, desire clear in his tone. 

Dream leaned back to look George in the eye, taking in the sight before him. The broken king of an empire of dirt, the grains slipping between his fingers with no attempts to stop them. Another explosion rocked the building, much closer that time. The rebels were gaining ground, but neither gave a fuck. All that existed in that moment was a king and his knight, ready to be more.

Dream surged forward in that moment, pressing his lips roughly against George’s. Heat exploded through the king’s body, ripping the numbness out of him as if it had never existed there in the first place. He reacted immediately, dropping fully to his knees to make it easier for Dream to grasp the back of his head, fingers tangling in the short hairs that resided there. The kiss was rough and hard, just like George had always thought kissing his knight would be. When they broke apart for a moment, chests heaving and lips connected by a strand of saliva, they both knew exactly what was about to follow.

Dream’s pupils were dilated with lust, lips already puffy and red from their brief contact.

“Does that answer your question?” George asked snarkily. Dream let out an honest to god _growl_ at the words, pushing George to his back at the foot of his own throne, climbing easily on top of him. 

“Tell me to stop right now.” Dream whispered, voice barely audible above the chaos reigning around them. He was straddling George’s hips, a thigh on either side of him. He ground down for a moment, obviously reveling in the clipped moan that left George’s lips at the contact. “Tell me in this very moment and you can still take it back, your majesty.”

“If I’m going to be dead by dawn, I’d rather leave this world with one less regret.” Came the reply, and all bets were off. Immediately Dream’s hands flew to the fastenings on his chestplate, undoing them with practiced speed. Below him, George was simply enjoying the show. He wanted to draw this out, watching the person who had stopped him from flinging himself off of the highest turret finally become his. With the chestplate gone, Dream brought his hands to George’s wrists, pinning them to the rough stone below them. 

“You’d regret not letting me take you?” Dream smirked at the shaky intake of breath from the man pinned below him. He put both of the small wrists he was holding down in one hand, and with the other unclipped the fastenings on George’s cape. Once it had fallen to the ground, the skin it was hiding was covered immediately by warm lips, kissing and biting and sucking every inch reachable. George pressed his wrists against the force that bound them, but the sheer size of Dream’s hand stopped him from making any real changes.

Another arrow came through the window, lodging itself in the throne exactly where George’s head had been mere minutes prior.

Neither man spared it a second glance.

“I never realized that a king would be so enamored by the idea of being fucked by someone of lower status.” Dream mused, obviously enjoying the bright scarlet hue that the king’s skin took on. 

“I believe you’re making incorrect use of your allowance to speak.” George tried to say with authority, but it came out as more of a challenge. The knight quirked an eyebrow, sitting back on his haunches.

“Fine then.” A glimmer appeared in Dream’s eyes as he let go of George’s wrists, happy to see that even after he was freed his arms still stayed submissively above his head. He began the process of unbuttoning the king’s white shirt, slightly dirtied by soot and mud from the small bit of the battle he’d been able to participate in. “I’ve spent much time thinking about you. On your knees before me as I sit in your throne.” Dream’s voice was raspy; he ran a hand slowly across the now exposed skin of George’s chest, enjoying the way he would arch up into his knight’s hand. “I know what you want. You want to be used, my king.” He used one thumb to run it across George’s plump bottom lip, ears ringing with gorgeous wanton moans. “And I, as your humble servant, will gladly oblige.”

Dream climbed to his feet, enamored with the beauty below him. Dark hair strewn across the stone, pale chest exposed to the orange light that filled the room, half lidded eyes begging for something, anything, to satiate him. Soon enough Dream was sitting on the black throne, looking out through the grand window which was becoming littered with holes. He reached behind himself to pull out the arrow that was lodged in the headpiece, and threw it aside. George crawled forward until he was situated on his knees between Dream’s spread thighs, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk on his face.

A hand landed in soft brown hair, lightly tugging on the locks until more sulty moans emerged from pink lips. Dream brought a hand down to palm lazily at the bulge in his trousers, using his other to prod a thumb at George’s lips after it was finished with the assault on his hair.

“Suck.” He ordered. Dream was happy to see that even a king could do what he was told- a warm mouth enveloped his pointer and middle fingers, talented tongue curling around them while big doe eyes stared into his soul. He was such a contradictory creature, looking innocent as a lamb but really being quite the opposite. “Fuck.” Dream cursed under his breath. He pulled the fingers out of George’s mouth; seeing the brunette try to chase them made him impossibly harder. 

Outside, the sounds of swords clanging and pained shouts were drowned out by even more explosions- where the rebels got their hands on so much TNT, George would never know. He also would never care, to be honest.

Dream’s attention was pulled away from the battle outside when determined hands began to undo his belt. He looked at the sight with a cocky grin- the king of Manburg on his knees before a lowly knight, trying to undress him like he was a common whore. It was beautiful.

Soon enough George had unbuckled the belt and pulled down the zipper of his trousers, a tantalizing pink blush decorating his cheeks as he saw what lay inside. Dream grinned, sitting back in the throne as if he was meant to be there.

“Do you like what you see?” The knight’s voice was dark and authoritative, making a shiver run down George’s spine. He wanted to be snarky and bite something back, wanted to establish that _he_ was the one with the power; he knew he wasn’t. And on top of that, he _was_ impressed. Dream was definitely… well endowed to say the least.

“I hope you’re not planning on all of that going down my throat.” George quipped, taking a warm hand to pull Dream’s hard cock out of his briefs. The man above him took a sharp breath, letting out a low groan at the hesitant contact. 

“We’ll see if you’re still thinking that way in a few minutes.” He said, letting his head fall back in pleasure as George started to slowly pump his hand up and down, testing the reactions that different techniques and pressures earned him. 

George felt dirty and used, kneeling there on the floor before his own throne, one of his servants moaning from the pleasure that _he_ was supplying. Fuck, he _liked_ feeling that way. Feeling wanted, even if Dream was just following implied orders. He wasn’t wanted as a king, he wasn’t wanted as a son. He could be wanted as a fuck though, and that was better than nothing. Besides, the way his knight looked in that moment was probably one of the most beautiful things George had ever seen; how could he refuse.

The pale skin of Dream’s neck was exposed with his head thrown back, one of those big hands moving to bury itself once more in his hair. Next to his foot lay George’s forgotten crown- not that it meant anything anyway. He looked back down to the cock in his hand, tip red and weeping. The king leaned forward and licked hesitantly, allowing himself to get used to the taste.

At the sensation Dream’s eyes flew open, moving to look down at the subject of his pleasures. 

“Take off the glasses, George.” The king paused at the use of his real name escaping from his lips. Dream leaned down, taking George’s chin in hand, then slowly pulled the white frames from his face. Instantly the world dulled, fluorescent green eyes changing instantly to a sulfur yellow. “I want the full picture.” He whispered, a gentle thumb caressing George’s cheekbone before he resumed previous position. 

Downstairs the pair could hear the rebels banging on the palace doors- they’d probably have them open soon, it was only a matter of time. So George picked up the pace, resting one hand on Dream’s thigh and keeping the other wrapped around the base of his cock as he took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip.

“ _Fuck_ .” Dream moaned, pulling sharply on the hair in his hand. George continued downward in the shaft until his mouth was full, the quarter he couldn’t fit still wrapped tightly in his fist. He reveled in the heavy feeling of the cock against his tongue and the musk that wafted into his nose. _Dirty, he felt dirty_.

George was careful to mind his teeth as he began to bob up and down, desperately attempting to suppress the gag reflex that would make itself known every time Dream thrusted a bit too far. At that point, the knight was obviously holding back as to not hurt him, barely rocking his hips and allowing George to take the lead, only applying gentle guidance with his hand. The brunette pulled off for a moment, catching his breath, a strand of spit connecting his lips to Dream’s cock. 

“I thought you were going to use me, sir knight.” George supplied, allowing a defiant look to rest on his face. Dream’s brow furrowed, a frown taking up residence on his lips.

“I don’t know if you could handle that.” He said.

“Make me find out.” 

Dream took no more time- the sound of the doors downstairs crashing open were no deterrent as he took George’s head in hand and pushed him down, forcing the young king to take the whole length down his throat. 

“God _fuck_ , you’re so fucking pretty like this.” Dream moaned, using George’s mouth roughly like a toy, barely allowing him time to breathe and not giving any leeway around the choking. He’d asked for this, he wanted this. He wanted to be broken down. George’s hands squeezed his thighs, looking for purchase anywhere he could get it. His throat burned so _good_ . It made him forget what was going on around them, all that existed in the universe was Dream. He relaxed his throat as much as he could to combat the relentless thrusting of the long cock into his mouth, tears rolling down his face. “A beautiful king, _my_ beautiful king.” Dream growled, possessiveness seeping into his voice.

It was fast and messy, just a quick throat fuck to punctuate the last day of George’s existence. Not a bad way to go out.

Soon Dream’s hips began to stutter, and a low moan was the only warning the king received before Dream came down his throat, breathing heavily. George backed away a bit, allowing some of the proof of their coupling to drip down his chin, a shy smile on his face. Dream’s head was thrown back again, shadows covering half of his fucked-out grin. George felt proud of himself- _he_ was the one to do that to the ever so stoic knight. After a few moments, his head finally lolled over, gaze meeting George’s. He tucked himself back into his pants and chuckled, using a thumb to wipe some of the mess from the brunette’s chin.

“You’re beautiful, your majesty.” 

“You’re an animal, my knight.” George replied, cringing a bit at how rough his voice sounded. He looked down to button his shirt again, knowing the Dream’s eyes were following him carefully, a dopey grin on his face. There was a lightness fluttering in the king’s chest, something he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. “Dream, I-”

“They’re in here!” A voice called from outside the throne room doors. Dream’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing. In a flash he was to his feet, picking up the armor that had been discarded on the ground. He fastened the chestplate to his body in record time, but placed the helm on George’s head tenderly. He picked up his axe as well eyes darting around the room for an escape route- his gaze landing on the window just as pounding began on the door.

“Let’s get out of here.” He said, that mischievous smile returning to his lips as he put out a hand for his king to take. Unafraid, George grabbed it, unsheathing his sword just as the doors broke open. Now was a pretty shitty time to suddenly have something to live for. 

Dream slammed his weapon into the glass, shattering it instantly. Without hesitation, both men jumped through to land in the moat, and escape.

The next morning, sunrise was duller than George had ever known. His glasses were gone- left on the floor of the throne room near his crown and cloak. He found he didn’t yet miss them as much as he thought he would. Next to him, his knight was eating a piece of the rabbit they’d caught and cooked under the cloak of darkness. 

They were free from Manburg, free from tyranny and chaos. George finally felt he could breathe deeply again.

“You’re all I have left, you know.” George said. His voice was raspy- a side effect of their earlier activities. “Everyone else has abandoned or backstabbed me.” Dream shrugged, looking off into the distance to where the castle of Manburg, nay, _L’Manburg_ stood in shambles. History would say they lost, but Dream and George knew the truth.

“Then it’s time to begin our lives anew, right your majesty?” Dream asked playfully. 

“You don’t have to call me that anymore you know.” George replied, a light blush dusting his cheeks when Dream took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I dunno, it has kinda a nice ring to it.” The brunette chuckled, the sound quickly turning into a sigh.

“Honestly? I think just George suits me much better.”

**Author's Note:**

> The only way to ensure more works like this one is to comment, bookmark, and leave kudos :) I hope you enjoyed! For fic updates and other content, follow my Twitter @azkaabanter


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